


Housewarming

by Chromat1cs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Banter, Come Shot, Coming In Pants, Consent, Dirty Talk, Edgeplay, Finger Sucking, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Moving In Together, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Teasing, except there sort of is plot and it's Their Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 09:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19827250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromat1cs/pseuds/Chromat1cs
Summary: Remus and Sirius move in with one another. Unpacking is tedious. Sirius isn't good with tedious.





	Housewarming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starstruck4Moony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starstruck4Moony/gifts), [shadow_prince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_prince/gifts).



> Thanks to Sarah for inspiring the PWP I didn't know was going to turn into a PWP!!!!!!?????? [shrugs forever into the sunset]  
> And also hi, Lucca, this is also for you because Reasons(TM).
> 
> Honestly though this was hugely fun to write, I had a blast (no pun intended, but absolutely intended).

_ — _

_ Early Morning _

—

“Hello, hello, messire; testing, one, two, three…?”

Sirius can’t help but smirk into his murmur, his mouth at Remus’ ear and his fingers creeping one by one down the warm-hot plane of Remus’ belly. Remus stirs and makes a tiny sound, curving back unconsciously to fit snug against Sirius’ body. 

“Good morning,” Sirius sing-songs, still feather-light and playful. Remus hums again, coming awake with a wide yawn as he reaches back to bury one hand in the back of Sirius’ hair. 

“Mor-in’.” Remus’ jaw pops faintly around waking and he twists his face to give Sirius a muzzy sideways kiss, Sirius’ hand paused just at the waistband of Remus’ pants. Sirius grins again into their kiss, sloppy and sleepy until he pulls back slightly. 

“How was your first night of slumber whilst living in sin?”

“Gorgeous,” Remus says on a groan, stretching again, pushing himself just so against Sirius to make his cock twitch into just past half-hard. “Save on rent, wake up next to you, what’s next, breakfast?”

Sirius snorts, whuffing against Remus’ ear again and resuming his hand’s slow trek south. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Moony.”

Their sitting room is still filled with boxes and there’s plenty to do today in the steady chug of Settling In throughout this new flat of theirs, but Sirius feels the compulsion to christen the flat now the way they hadn’t been able to last night after collapsing into sleep with the day’s exhaustion of hauling boxes the Muggle way at Remus’ unrelenting and yet infuriatingly-undeniable behest.

_ “Fuck,” _ Remus hisses, tugging at Sirius’s hair and thrusting into the arriving grip of his touch. Giddy thrill shoots through Sirius and he grins against the back of Remus’ neck as he begins stroking Remus slowly. 

“Early to rise indeed; Merlin,” Sirius murmurs, his breath heady and close at Remus’ earlobe, “you’re fucking  _ hard.” _

“I had some— _ ah— _ lovely dreams.” Remus is already panting, and Sirius bites down on his lip with a deep bolt of pleasure when he sweeps his thumb over the head of Remus’ cock to find it hot and beading wet. “I’m surprised I didn’t come in my sleep.”

Sirius moans through an open-mouthed kiss to the cords standing out high on Remus’ neck, licking at the faint skin-salt in the delicate curve there, and twists his fist through a long, slow pump along Remus from root to tip—

Before pulling away in one move, hand and body and all. 

The mewling whine that foots itself with an airy, frantic note of questioning as it rips itself out of Remus’ open, shining mouth goes straight to Sirius’ own cock despite the winning bid for impishness in his guts. Shifting to sit back on his heels, still tenting his pants but smirking down at Remus’ prone and delicious confusion, Sirius grins. “Well, if you waited all night then perhaps you can wait all day.”

Remus throws himself back onto his side with a lofty groan and squeezes his pillow around his head in exasperation. But, Sirius notices with a pleased flexion in his chest, the far corner of the pillowcase doesn’t quite cover the little twitch of an eager smile on those perfect, sharp-witted, pliant lips. 

—

_ Midmorning _

—

Remus is fussing over a box filled with old textbooks when Sirius puts his bare foot down on it to shut the flaps and drag Remus’ eyes up to him in a slow, inquisitive pull.

They’ve been ichor-sweet to one another since Sirius bounded out of bed and took the coldest shower he could bear— _ Two can play at this game, and what a game indeed.  _ Moving around one another through the patterns of moving in is tempting in the best way, and Sirius can only hope Remus feels it as well; passing another around pell-mell furniture, placing and re-placing decorations or little pieces of their lives together so far, skimming a hand along a hip or brushing a sweat-damp curl from Remus’ temple, oh, it’s  _ delicious.  _ The light behind Remus’ eyes shutters in that way that drives Sirius’ senses into overdrive, his nostrils flare slightly, his lips might part just so to make Sirius burn to push his thumb between them and—

“Can I help you?”

Remus raises an eyebrow and pushes his hair back from his forehead with a fussy carding fist, expectant on his knees with Sirius looking down at him and tapping the ball of his foot against the box flaps. 

“Just enjoying the view,” Sirius purrs. Remus rolls his eyes. 

“You’re getting foot sweat all over my best defense texts.”

“And whose idea was it to move in the middle of June?”

“Whose idea was it to step on my box in the middle of my organization?”

Sirius reaches down to replace Remus’ hand with his own, a loose grip almost lazy in those carved-brass curls and  _ Fuck,  _ they always feel so good around his fingers. “Is ‘organization’ just rifling around between old books without taking them out of the box?”

Remus sniffs a sardonic chuckle and nuzzles into Sirius’ hand. “You’re such a fucking wankstain.”

Sirius bites down on his bottom lip and narrows his eyes as he watches Remus relax into his touch, that everlasting and unsaid permission between them to  _ Do it, Sirius, _ whatever Sirius wants, Remus’ deepest and darkest tastes always blooming from those compulsions of his. “Stand up,” Sirius rasps. 

He steps back from the box as Remus stands up, wincing slightly when his knees crack a bit with the motion. Sirius nudges the box to the side with his toe and slips his hand immediately up the hem of Remus’ shirt and grins at the way Remus melts into it immediately. “Old man,” he whispers, earning a half-formed sound of resistance from Remus. 

“Am not.”

Sirius finds one of Remus’ nipples and rolls it beneath his thumb. “I’m not the one with ‘best defense texts,’” he goads, pitching his voice into Remus’ softer, tenor-bright brogue. Remus leans into him and rests his hands on Sirius’ hips, tugging his belt loops slightly. 

“I’m not the one with so many boxes of records he almost slipped a disc hauling them up the stairs,” he murmurs. Sirius uses his free hand to slide Remus’ shirt all the way up to his collar bone as he begins lapping at the tightening point of Remus’ nipple with slow, open kisses. 

“And who didn’t want us using magic to get it all inside?” Sirius keeps one hand up at Remus’ shirt while the other drops to the height of his thigh and tugs him forward, satisfied to pull forth a ragged sound of encouragement when his surging hardness pushes against Sirius’ hip. Sirius breathes out a soft, fast huff against Remus’ chest. “Yeah?”

“God, Sirius, I—let me suck you,” Remus babbles, clutching even more tightly at Sirius and gasping when Sirius applies a slow, wet teethe to his nipple.

Sirius takes his time there, licking and circling his thumb slick around Remus’ other nipple, making Remus twitch and unwind beneath his hands and his tongue there where they stand. “Impatient,” Sirius whispers alongside Remus’ hammering heart. 

“Let me down on my knees, let me fucking choke on you,” Remus begs against the top of Sirius’ head where Sirius has stooped to worship him to pieces. Need and pride bolt ruby-hot through Sirius’ guts but, despite the minor riot that lights in him to see Remus begging and standing rod-hard against the fly of his jeans, Sirius steps back suddenly as he drags a hand through his own hair to smooth it. 

“I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about,” Sirius announces with airy falsity. Remus gives him a very flat look, adjusts his shirt, and kneels back down to the floor in front of the box, very pointedly taking each book out as he starts sorting through them again. 

—

_ Afternoon _

—

“Come on, you sorry sack of bones, up. We need to move the sofa.”

Remus chucks one of many mismatched throw pillows at Sirius’ head and misses widely, hitting the bare wall above the fireplace instead. “Sod off, 'm’resting.”

_ “Resting?” _ Sirius gives him a pointed look until Remus cracks one eye at him, brows furrowed. 

“Yes,  _ resting.” _

Sirius plops down in front of the sofa and crowds Remus’ vision such that Remus has to shut his eye again to ignore him. Sirius scoffs. “You’ve emptied about three boxes total to my eight, you have to catch up if anything.”

“The moon was three days ago, give me a break,” Remus mumbles into the overstuffed arm of the chair. He stretches his body long, his shirt riding up and his jeans low, as Sirius bites his back teeth together as he watches it unabashedly. 

“You took your fucking NEWTs the  _ day _ after a full, you can move into a flat after three,” Sirius deadpans. 

Remus opens his eyes and pouts, the pout he must know drives straight into Sirius’ guts with the way it makes his mouth beg to be claimed. “Just give me ten minutes?”  _ Merlin, but he sounds good when he whines. _

Sirius leans forward and skims his knuckles along Remus’ cheek tenderly, a soft gesture that sees Remus turning into it with a faint little grin for a moment. “Ten minutes?” Sirius says, mimicking Remus’ tone ever so slightly as he flattens his hand to cup Remus’ face and stroke the skin beside his mouth. 

“Then I’ll be right as rain.” Remus’ voice is airy and comfortably content—and Sirius is still fixed on that mouth. 

“I think that’s a bit of a long time,” Sirius whispers as he presses gently against the swell of Remus’ bottom lip. “How about five?”

Remus leaves his eyes shut, but he doesn’t twist his face away from Sirius’ thumb at the corner of his mouth. “I could stand for five,” he breathes. 

Glancing at the Muggle clock at the stovetop he can see from over the back of the sofa, Sirius hums approval, “Five minutes it is,” and slips his thumb into the wet heat of Remus’ willing lips. 

His tongue, the incredible bastard, flattens immediately against Sirius’ fingertip in a slow, slick rhythm. The huge wrapped box by the hearth, a present from James they’ve yet to unwrap but is undoubtedly a clock with the way it’s ticking, and the hum of the street outside through the open sitting room window are the only sounds Sirius hears besides his own breathing as Remus takes his time licking, pushing, playing his tongue and lips around Sirius’ thumb.  _ Look at what I want to do to you, _ his mouth seems to say,  _ look at how badly I want to suck your cock. _

“You’re such a slut for my hands,” Sirius murmurs. He pushes his free hand into Remus’ hair again, clearing it back off his forehead to bare the tawny eyebrow nicked in half by the pale thread of a scar, and Remus’ eyes flick open to burn into Sirius’ own stare. He nods, mussing his hair into the sofa. Sirius cocks his head to the side, matching the angle of their faces, and leans in close to ask, “Whatever are we going to do when we have nothing left to do here but fuck each other silly?”

As if offering a solution, Remus opens his mouth wider; tongue flopping out, a slaggish dare for Sirius to change it up,  _ More,  _ this is always how Remus asks for more. Sirius hisses in a breath through his teeth as his cock wakes up again and presses his middle and forefinger to the middle of Remus’ tongue, nodding at him shallowly—Remus lets out a small sound of what might be thanks and closes his lips around Sirius’ fingers again. 

“I’m never going to get anything done,” Sirius whispers as his breath feathers, his heart hammers, he lets his hand begin working tight little in-out-in-out’s against the spit-slick edges of Remus’ lips. “I’m going to be bollocks-deep in you in every corner of these rooms, nailing you speechless and painting every bloody surface of this flat with your spunk, is that what you want?”

Remus nods again, more intently, and he lets out a sloppy moan around Sirius’ fingers. He sets one hand to Sirius’ wrist, trembling, and grips the other around the edge of the couch cushion. Sirius’ spirit burns white-hot. 

“I’ll fuck you against the window with your cock dripping against the glass, you’d like for everyone to see you like that, wouldn’t you?” Sirius tightens the hand in Remus’ hair, part unwittingly and part with  _ very _ intent purpose, and tips his head back slightly. “Wrecked, flushed, fucking  _ begging  _ for my cock, that’s your favorite way to be, isn’t it, Remus?”

At the shape of his name coming from Sirius’ worked-over voice, Remus cries out softly around Sirius’s fingers and nods. His free hand slips down his body, flicks deftly at the top of his fly, into his pants with hungry, twitching fingers, and—

Sirius yanks his hand out of Remus’ mouth, saliva stringing thick between his lips and Sirius’ hand, and seizes Remus by the errant wrist. Remus looks dazes, panting, his mouth swollen with spit and plush with the pressure of sucking, gaping up at Sirius in a worked-up, horny stupor.  _ Morgana’s fucking minge,  _ Sirius wants to fuck him so hard it hurts. But he clenches his jaw and hold up Remus’ hand, still keeping his other fist buried in Remus’ hair. 

“If you touch yourself before I’m done teasing you today,” he says as evenly as possible, “I won’t fuck you for a week.”

Remus looks like Sirius has just told him he’d snap Remus’ wand, and Sirius isn’t even sure he’d call his own bluff but he stands up nonetheless. He steps back from the couch, wipes his hand off on his jeans, and shakes his hair back from his face again. Sirius glances at the kitchen clock and turns to the bathroom for this second frigid shower of the day. “What do you know,” he calls over his shoulder, “five minutes on the dot.”

From behind the bathroom door as it clicks shut on its slightly-warped frame, Sirius hears Remus sigh with heavy resignation. 

—

_ Evening _

—

Takeaway, Sirius decides, is the greatest Muggle invention since FM radio. 

“Fucking  _ brilliant,”  _ Sirius announces to the kitchen ceiling, his voice echoing a bit less now than it did when he barged in yesterday with the first box. “Can you remember if I’ve asked James for his mum’s curry recipe yet? I need to be able to make that myself someday.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but I don’t think you’ll be able to make curry as well as the place on the corner that’s been there for twelve years.” Remus casts him a doubtful look from the sink where he’s rinsing off their dishes from the kitchen boxes. Sirius mocks offense and tips back on the back two legs of his chair. 

“You  _ wound _ me! I’ll have you know, Mrs. Potter and I were quite the team in the kitchen when I lived there.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you were.”

“And yet you doubt my curry skills?”

“Sirius, I doubt  _ many _ things about you, curry skills notwithstanding.”

Sirius pitches himself forward dramatically and squints at Remus, deeply enjoying and wanting to ruin that smug little grin of his all at once. “Like what?”

“Oh,” Remus sighs, taking his sweet time washing the rim of a teacup from his mother’s old collection, “plenty of things. Your knowledge of potions, your skill with a guitar, your confidence in where to find the clitoris—”

“That was  _ one. Time.” _

“—your Firewhiskey tolerance, your two left feet, your allergy to daisies—”

“That one is medically proven! You can’t  _ doubt  _ that!” Sirius leaps into a stand with a finger pointed savagely at Remus. It takes a moment before he realizes Remus is giving him the sort of smile, elbow-deep in warm water and soap suds, reserved for the times when he is in fact ribbing Sirius for all he’s worth. Remus begins to snicker and Sirius scowls at him as affection tightens in his chest. “Numpty.”

“Pillock.”

“Bastard.”

“Todger.”

“Mary.”

“Fop.”

“Wanker.”

“Come and get it then, eh?” Remus winks at him with exaggerated bawdiness, and the giddy high of sharing a flat with the best person he knows is still fresh enough in Sirius’ veins that he clamors over and yanks Remus in a rough and hotblooded kiss against the counter. 

Remus’ hands are still sopping wet, but he instinctively scrabbles for purchase on Sirius’ shoulders to return to kiss. It soaks through Sirius’ shirt in no time, and after several moments of it clinging uncomfortably to his skin Sirius sheds it with a rough pull between his shoulders, ripping it off with one hand before diving back in against Remus’ mouth. 

_ “God, _ fuck, yes,” Remus pleads against their kisses, his hands everywhere as though reading Sirius’ bared torso with touch alone, “how are you always so bloody  _ smooth?” _

“I’m a vain bitch, Moony, it’s called moisturizing.”

Sirius hoists Remus up on the lip of the sink, uncaring for the water and the soap and heedless of the rattling dishes that protest behind him. Remus spreads his thighs and pulls Sirius closer, diving against his mouth, rolling his hips forward until he’s hot and close and panting as he traces Sirius’ skin again and again and again. 

“Please,” Remus whispers, his voice shaking, after several long minutes of breath-rending, nerve-shearing kisses that Remus can only imagine have torn through his weakened resolve like hot coals.  _ “Please _ touch me.”

The gasping plea almost undoes Sirius right there, almost makes him reach down to undo Remus’ trousers and free him into bliss amid the dishwater and the nice granite countertops. But he holds fast to his promise, knowing it will be all the better for the both of them if he keep drawing it out, and keeps his hands firmly planted on Remus’ waist. He kisses his way down Remus’ neck, mouthing and licking at each trickle of his pulse and the faint jots of a couple old scars, and kneads his fingers into the fabric of Remus’ shirt. 

“Maybe I could bend you over the table,” he growls, “bury my face in you and lick you ‘til you’re fucking crying. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” Remus gasps, his imagination surely spinning through him like silk, twitching his hips in a futile bid to press into Sirius for any sort of blessed friction. 

“I could also just fuck you right here. Forget a charm, we could get  _ really _ fucking dirty and use the soap—drip it all over my hands, get you prepped and sticky and fucking dripping with it for me, slick my cock with it and fuck you hard as anything,  _ shit, _ Remus.” Sirius hisses and slows himself when the thought of it takes him unawares, surprisingly keen on making Remus sloppy with a thorough fuck—he banks that thought away for later. Remus clings to him, whimpers with surrendering need, and gulps for breath. 

“Yes, fucking please—!”

“Oh, I want to do so many things to you,” Sirius breathes at Remus ear, licking its shell with the very tip of his tongue. 

“Do them all, Sirius, I fucking—please,  _ please.” _

It’s a herculean feat to step back from Remus then, but Sirius gathers every fiber of his will and lets go of Remus, steps back, and leans heavily on the kitchen table. Remus lets out a frustrated growl, gathers up a fist of his hair, and knocks his head back against the cabinet behind him. There’s a long bout of silence in which they both catch their breath, slow their pulses, calm their needs; Sirius notices that the bulge in Remus’ trousers doesn’t quite recede all the way. He takes a deep sort of pride in that;  _ Good. _

“Jesus Christ, you’re too good at this,” Remus finally sighs. 

Sirius shrugs and takes up his shirt from where it fell in front of the refrigerator. “What can I say, I have a vivid imagination.”

Remus snorts. It sounds as if he’s going to reply with something else, but it turns into a little snuff of air instead and he stays quiet. Sirius smiles at him. Remus frowns.

His eyes shimmer, green and hazel and all his twisting beauties in one swirled up around very wide pupils, with adoration. 

—

_ Night _

—

Remus, Sirius discovered early on in their school days, has quite a lengthy bedtime routine that is surprisingly longer than Sirius’ list of Brush Teeth, Piss, Sleep. As such, Sirius finds himself the first one in the bed he supposes they’re sharing now for the second night in a row. 

He pulls the covers up to his chin in the comfortable dark and listens to Remus knocking about in the bathroom down the hall, the yellow light there throwing a slim triangle of itself onto the floor through the bedroom door, trying to make sense of all the sounds. There, the tap. That, the medicine cabinet. Here, he might be flossing. There again, is he filling a cup?

It takes about five minutes before the light flicks off, Remus feet approach along the gentle squeaking of the floorboards, and Sirius watches his shadowy shape fill the doorway and shut it behind him. 

“Here, scoot. You always sleep sounder next to windows than I do,” he murmurs. 

Sirius likes that Remus speaks softly in the dark, even if there’s no one else around to disturb. It makes him think there’s something precious about this space; and there is. It’s right here, shimmying into the covers besides him. It’s Remus. 

They cobble themselves into a shape that Sirius is finding is surprisingly comfortable even outside the great hulking dormitory beds, their foreheads touching and their legs tangling while they find one another’s hands and wend them together. Remus kisses the back of Sirius’ hand. Sirius kisses the tops of his knuckles. 

“Bang-up job with the unpacking today,” Sirius whispers. 

“Why thank you, and that record cabinet looks very well organized. Good on you, Black.” Remus’ breath smells of mint and cinnamon. 

“Cheers to us,” Sirius murmurs. He leans in, steals a kiss—quick and simple and sweet, not even a trace of tongue—and flops over onto his back to hunker into the sheets. Inside, he grins a devil’s grin. “G’night then, Moony.”

There’s a very stiff pause through which Sirius can feel Remus’ eyes narrowing. “Night,” Remus finally whispers, slowly and carefully with the sort of tone he used to save for Prefect duty. 

Sirius waits all of four minutes, after Remus’ breath has evened a little bit beside him before he starts in on the final stages of his plan. He reaches down past the waistband of his pants, wraps a hand around his cock, and starts to steadily pull himself off. 

He makes sure to be a couple steps past surreptitious about it, moving his arm just enough to flutter the sheets, and it’s but a handful of strokes before Remus props himself up on his elbow. 

“Are you  _ honestly _ masturbating right now,” he deadpans, careful whisper gone to flatten his words into Sirius’ ear. Sirius grins up at the ceiling, keeping his pace nice and steady. 

“Indeed I am, best way to ensure a good night’s sleep.”

Remus says something under his breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, which Remus sees clearly in the throw of the waning moon through their curtains. “Right. Fair’s fair then,” he announces, shifting just as well with a dip of his arm toward his pelvis. 

_ Bingo, _ Sirius thinks with a victorious swell of hilarity in his lungs. 

Without warning, Sirius throws himself sideways and wrestles Remus, who lets out an unbecoming squawk, down into his back with his arms pinned by his sides. “What the  _ fuck,  _ Sirius!” he growls, thrashing between the vise of Sirius’ thighs. Sirius grabs Remus’ Muggle alarm clock from the bedside table and points to it, catching its face in the moonlight. 

“Not midnight yet.”

_ “And?” _

_ “And,” _ Sirius insists loftily, “it’s not done being ‘today’ yet. If you touch yourself before midnight—” He leans in close, his nose almost touching Remus’ and his hair falling in close to frame Remus’ wide, incredulous expression. “—No. Fucking. For. A. Week.”

“Fine,” Remus hisses, “I’ll hump a fucking pillow. Let me  _ go.” _

Sirius sputters, waving his hand aimlessly as he sets the clock back down. “That’s an entirely new clause!”

“Fuck off, just let me COME, Sirius!” Remus shouts suddenly. Sirius sits back on his thighs, smug, ready to settle in and enjoy the unraveling of the man who normally has everything so painfully, meticulously under control. 

“Why should I?” Sirius purrs. Remus throws his head back into his pillow and groans at the ceiling. 

“I had three dreams in a row last night—THREE!—in which I was being fucked to jelly but never finished. That was God knows  _ how _ many hours ago. Then you wake me up just before seven o’clock and I think maybe I’ll get some deliverance, but  _ no, _ you got  _ ideas _ and decided to make me wait to fuck, for more than  _ fifteen fucking hours,  _ and then you proceed to tease me within an inch of my limit while we are doing  _ very  _ important things around our new flat! Do you know how hard it is to hang posters when all I’m thinking about is your cock? Do you?! Because it is not!  _ Easy!” _

Remus puts a hand to his forehead and catches his breath while Sirius looks down at him, still straddled across his legs, and smiles at his outburst. “But you love my ideas,” he coos eventually. Remus slides his hand down to cover his eyes and groans again. 

“Yes, despite my higher fucking judgement, I really do.”

Sirius heart softens. He lowers himself down to Remus’ face again and pries gently at Remus’ fingers until he reveals one eye, flashing prettily in the moonlight. “For the record,” Sirius hums, “I  _ do _ know how hard it is to hang posters while thinking about my cock.”

Remus snorts. “Fuck off.”

“Come here, you sod.”

They kiss with the relief and fervor of final reconciliation, the release of Remus having let off some of that pent-up steam of his that a long tease like this always helps with up into the air in long and twisting fingers of unseen smoke. Sirius pours his deepest affections down into his kisses, licking at Remus’ mouth like an overfull jam jar, and receives Remus’ own kisses with welcome fervor. They end up flat together, sideways, and finally with Remus sat atop Sirius in a desperate, clinging rut. 

“Let me,” Remus pants finally in the gaps in which all the most secret loves of these two live, the spaces between their breath, the pockets in time that last in the glances that last just a bit too long and the touches that press just a bit too deep. Sirius nods and their hands go down together, shedding Remus’ pants to let him stand hot and rod-stiff and oozing a thick thread of readiness at his tip already. Sirius wants to put his mouth on him, but Remus seems determined to find his ending himself with Sirius at the luxury of watching. 

“There you are, you’ve got it,” Sirius whispers, his breath catching when Remus grips himself at his base such that his knuckles graze Sirius’ own cock through his pants as he goes. Remus bites his lips together and steadies himself with his free hand on Sirius’ thigh, but instead of starting to stroke himself he begins rolling his hips back and forth to make Sirius seize with ecstasy. “Fucking—! Remus, you—”

“‘M trying to time it,” Remus hisses, his eyes screwed shut, “don’t break my fucking concentration, tell me when you’re close.”

Sirius’ insides twist sharply with the filthy irreverence of that and he nods wildly with approval. He slips his hands up to grip and knead at Remus’ backside as he helps Remus’ rhythm along with shallow thrusts up to meet him, the cotton of his pants dragging across him in just the right way to tug him closer and closer as Remus’ breath heaves with the effort of holding into his stamina. 

“Just—almost there, Remus, it’s so good, fucking— _ fuck, _ yeah,” Sirius pants, his hips beginning to stutter and his fingers twitching against Remus’ skin, “It’s—yeah, I’m gonna come, Remus,  _ fuck, _ I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah,” Remus gasps, his hand finally beginning to fly across the twitching intensity of his cock. His expression cracks into bliss, surrender, the approach of sweet breathlessness; “Oh, God, it’s—holy  _ shit,  _ I’m coming, I—”

Remus’ voice cracks like the face of an iceberg, sliding into the ocean of his surging orgasm with a wounded, perfect cry as his cock twitches sharply and begins spilling. He shoots thick ropes across Sirius’ chest, a day’s-worth of edged buildup finally seeing release, and he pumps himself with jerking determination through each rich, lurid pulse. Sirius counts at least six strands that sling across his body before he loses it himself, presses up hard against Remus’ spread thighs and spills into his pants, shouting once into the dark and letting his breath rip out of him in tight skipping gasps as he pumps his own impressive climax against his hip and out the edge of his waistband. 

They lay in boneless repose for several minutes before Sirius slurs a wandless spell, patchy in its execution but enough to clean them of most of their satisfied mess.

“Well done, you,” Sirius says, weak-voiced, with a little scritching pat on the back of Remus’ neck, “that was a  _ lot.” _

“Thanks. You too.” The exhausted mutter into Sirius’ shoulder is terribly endearing in its rawness. 

They end up sleeping in a tangled pile of limbs, tired from hauling books and records and all various and sundry belongings and tired from playing their favorite games, tired from narrowly escaping the mess of the wizarding world and tired from putting up with it for seven-odd years together. 

But never tired of this, the way they curl together on an old four-poster bed under the streaky light seeping in from curtains that aren’t very good at their job; never tired of the two of them as one. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stopping by, feel free to say hi on [tumblr](https://chromat1cs.tumblr.com/) :>


End file.
